


The Eyes Of A Serpent

by BossPotato01



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Blood and Injury, But not by name, Crowley gets his name, Gen, The Fall (Good Omens), aziraphale is mentioned - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:07:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22827658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BossPotato01/pseuds/BossPotato01
Summary: This is a bit of a mess, but it was kinda fun. However, the next time I write a first-person fic will be when swine take to the sky.This is about how Crowley got his name.
Kudos: 1





	The Eyes Of A Serpent

My whole body felt like it was on fire. I couldn’t even open my eyes, it felt like the eyeballs themselves had been branded. I wanted to die… why was I not dead? I had fallen, all the way from Heaven. I should be in a million little pieces, shouldn’t I? But here I was… lying in the mud and ash. I didn’t know where I was… but that was the least of my worries.

We had fallen. We had wings, we weren’t supposed to fall. Falling was for baby birds, which I had seen in a glimpse as I fell past Eden on my way down here. And that’s what we were, after all. Children. Why had I asked questions? Why had I listened to those… people. I heard somebody limping up to me, the sound of filth parting for an injured soul, not unlike myself. 

This person kicked me. “Are you alive?” They asked. I could not place the voice. Whoever it was, their throat was harsh and hoarse. Filled with the filth from the air, and probably sore from screaming on the way down. 

I opened my eyes. In front of me stood a fallen Angel. Their hair was blackened with filth and badly singed off. Part of their face around their jaw was badly burned. But what shocked me the most was the state of this angel’s wings. What I had heard before had not been limping from an injured leg, but rather a wing that had been nearly torn off dragging in the dirt. The bone was exposed, and the feathers were matted with blood and charred. I wanted to vomit when I noticed that flies had begun to land on the cooked flesh exposed on the angel’s wing.

“Well that makes two of us,” said the fallen angel, noticing my movement. We made eye-contact. The Angel had a sharp intake of breath but said nothing. Did I look as bad as them? Was I worse? I noticed a puddle not far away and tried to stand. I could go and see my reflection. But I stumbled. Pain shot through my leg. Broken. I thought. Excellent. Filled with a disgusting determination to see what disfigurement I had been bestowed with, I pushed myself through the mud, crawling.

The other fallen angel made some comment about my crawling. I didn’t hear it. I made it to the water’s edge and peered in. I wasn’t as bad as my associate, just very dirty. My once golden curls were now matted and blood-red, and I was otherwise filthy. But it had been my eyes that made the other angel flinch. They were yellow, but not like the sun. They were the color of illness, a boggy yellow. And my pupils and changed; they had become slits. My eyes now were cracked doors for people to peer through at my very tattered soul. I gasped.

The angel who had spoken to me before came over, grabbed me by the arm and wrenched me to my feet. They would not meet my eyes as they used their powers to mend my leg. “Is that you, Azrael?” I asked, peering at them under all the filth. The Angel, whom I was pretty sure was, in fact, Azrael smacked me.

“Shut up! I don’t want to use that name anymore. The opposition gave me that title. Call me…” Not-Azrael-anymore glanced around them, catching sight of the flies as more landed on them. A tired, bitter smile came on their face. “Beelzebub.”

“Of the exalted house?” I translated. “That’s a little on the nose, isn’t it?” I asked, reaching out to fix now-Beelzebub’s wings. They flinched at my touch, a pained moan escaping their throat as I fixed it. The flies did not leave, even after all the flesh was fixed up. They continued to hover around Beelzebub, like servants to their master.

“Shut up,” Beelzebub repeated, but this time I was not smacked. “What were you called, up there?” they motioned to the sky.

“I’m Raphael,” I coughed.

Beelzebub shook their head. “You were Raphael. We’re definitely changing that.”

“To what? I like Raphael well enough, thank you.”

Beelzebub ignored this. “We need something that suits you. How about Crawly?”

“Shut up,” I told the fallen angel, rolling my eyes. There was a bit of light visible outside our crater. The garden. I pulled myself up, just high enough that I could see in. Beelzebub popped up beside me, after much effort. I stared in wonder at the angel who stood upon the eastern gate, pacing back and forth, carefully on guard.

“They are worried we might get in and hurt the humans,” Beelzebub mused, jumping back down into the put. I followed. “And we will, as soon as the others, at least those who survived, come about. This will all be dreadfully fun, won’t it, Crawly?”  
But I was still entranced by the angel we had seen. All I did was ask questions. Hang out with the wrong people. Why was I no longer one of them? Had I really been so awful?

One day, I decided, I’ll make everything right. I’ll make them want me back. Even if it means stopping the end of the world.


End file.
